


Awestruck

by caprigender



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom of the Opera (2004), Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Disabled Character, F/F, disabled Christine Daae, hard of hearing Meg Giry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 16:03:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3902344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caprigender/pseuds/caprigender
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christine and Meg pine after each other and connect deeply in their own way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Awestruck

**Author's Note:**

> I was already considering hard of hearing Meg giry and disabled Christine, and then one of my friends told me that she is actually irl Meg giry and also hoh and so that sealed the deal and I had to write this

Christine was always awestruck by Meg and the simple grace she seemed to bring to every aspect of her life. From the way she leapt across the stage to the excited movements of her signing to the stealthy steps she took as she crept through the opera house passageways Meg was a picture of refinement. Christine couldn’t imagine how such delicacy was possible. Perhaps she had learned to dance before even learning to walk causing her every movement to filter through the ballerina’s poise that had always been second nature to her. It wouldn’t be too far a stretch of the imagination, considering how long she had lived in the opera house dormitories. Or maybe it was some innate natural talent passed on to her from her mother. Whatever the reason, Meg moved throughout her life as if she were gliding effortlessly through the air, a far cry from the way Christine felt after every ballet rehearsal.

Every bone and muscle in her body ached like she had been run through a meat grinder. Her feet had the worst of it, though. Tendons stretched, joints creaked, and Christine grit her teeth against the pain of it all. She had learned early on that it was important not to show weakness around the other ballerinas. The girls and young women could be terribly cruel when they decided to be, and the clumsy, absentminded Christine was already easy prey. So she sat alone in the chapel that evening, humming to herself and gently massaging her own feet.

“Christine?” Christine turned at the voice to see Meg standing there, perfectly poised as always. She grinned sheepishly at the young ballerina who immediately started to sign how worried she had been about her friend. After all, you cannot simply disappear without a trace after practice and not expect someone to notice and come looking.

“Slow down,” Christine signed back, “I cannot keep up with you.”

Meg sighed and sat down on the floor next to her friend. She moved Christine’s feet onto her lap. “Here, let me help you with this.”

Christine nodded, allowing her friend to take care of her. Meg’s hands worked patiently at the sore tendons in Christine’s feet and calves. She bit her lip and hummed a tune from the theater’s most recent opera to keep herself from crying. Meg noticed. Meg always noticed when Christine was hurting. She noticed, but she would never call her out for it. She would never hurt her more.

“Why don’t you sing for me, Christine?”

Christine nodded. She set her shoulders back, took a breath as deep as the Atlantic Ocean, and sang. She sang and she signed and sometimes she fumbled and misplaced her fingers and sometimes she forgot the words and sometimes she would give a small yelp of pain but she always continued.

And Meg Giry was awestruck. She was always awestruck by her Christine and how hard she tried and how much she endured. She would listen to her friend’s voice and watch her shaking hands as they steadied and curled around the signs she had taught her. Sometimes she would hold up a hand to the base of Christine’s throat and let the vibrations give her a whole new meaning to their communication. She would let Christine’s spirit wrap around her and hold her when she was afraid and hurt and unsure of everything. She had no doubt that Christine relied on her, but she knew that Christine had no idea how much Meg needed her, too. Maybe someday she would be able to tell her. Maybe someday she could look Christine in the eyes and tell her she loved her. At that moment, all Meg Giry could do was feel the abnormalities still present in her angel’s bones and sign that she should really join the chorus as soon as possible. “Please, Christine, for me.”


End file.
